


Maculatum

by KaT_John_Adams



Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaT_John_Adams/pseuds/KaT_John_Adams
Summary: Inspired by this post: https://elsewhereuniversity.tumblr.com/post/167609532556/so-would-the-person-who-makes-actual-flower
Kudos: 6





	Maculatum

He spoke little but with a clear voice that never seemed to carry too far, or have difficulty reaching the listener. Always the little basket of flowers and clever fingers weaving rings of flowers. Hands with fingers not long and elegant like a pianist’s, but a little short and almost child-like but deft nonetheless. He wove bands of flowers into rings and gave them as gifts, left them as surprises, placed them on delighted and grateful brows. Some were simple, narrow little things as delicate as a wish. Others were ornate, colorful crowns elaborate and brilliant in design. 

There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to who received what, or what was left where, nor any concern over the decision, but you couldn’t ask for the one being made. Those who did received a smile and a polite shake of the head.

But as often they received another at a later time, often left hanging on their door handle or set desk.

You knew if the flowers were yours. A flower crown on your desk was either yours or you hand’t expected one and politely left it for it’s intended recipient. You didn’t steal them. There were unspoken but somehow _known_ rules in effect, here. But sometimes you’d be lucky to find one left in a seemingly random place on the campus grounds. And maybe you felt it was yours and you took it. Or you knew it wasn’t and you didn’t. And maybe he approached you and gave you one, or offered to place it on your head. 

On rare occasions, people rejected the gift. This didn’t hurt him; he would smile and nod and continue on his way. People whispered that the rejected gifts were left next to Jimothy who didn’t seem to want or like them but also didn’t seem to mind them being nearby. 

But there were others that were left in places no one took. Flower crowns that varied in complexity and design but sat in places odd. Like hanging from a branch over crossing paths. Or encircling a lamp-post (it had to have been made there but it’ll do no good trying to find anyone who saw it being woven in place). Or underneath the woven arch of vine and heather behind the Arts building.

They sat, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for days, but would eventually disappear. But others would show up. In place of the first gift, or on his desk, or just somewhere he frequented. And no one sane touched them. _Not Ever_. Because they were perfect and beautiful and woven out of _hemlock_. Or something like it. Because the little _maculatum_ smelt not musty and off as poison hemlock does, but of rotting flesh and burst alkaline batteries. 

The surface they sat on would weather where the little flowers touched it. Metal etched like it sat under salt and acids. Wood seemed to char and age. Even stone seemed wear away. And oh, it was known that you didn’t touch the little hemlock crowns because they were _poison_ and they were _magic_ but most of all they were _his_ and you _do not steal_. Most certainly, on this campus, you _do not steal flower crowns_.

He, however, would wear them for a day on finding them (the only flower crowns he wore). What he did after no one knows (but plenty talk about it). 

Everyone loves the flower boy. _Everyone._


End file.
